


Payment, rather than affection

by hippocrates460



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Sex Work, Snarry-A-Thon20, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23875663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippocrates460/pseuds/hippocrates460
Summary: “You wanna live fancy? Live in a big mansion?Party in France?You better work bitch”Britney SpearsM WLTM FELLOW LNLY PERSON FR DINNER & WINE. WELL-COMPENSATED.Who could be lonelier than still-recovering Snape? Who could be more alone than newly-divorced Harry?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 49
Kudos: 297
Collections: Snarry_a_Thon20





	Payment, rather than affection

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who has cheered me on, read this over, or screamed at me. You know who you are.
> 
>  **Prompt:** 091 SugarDaddy!Harry fic, Harry is jaded, and straying away from society thanks to his fame. Severus on the other hand just wants to afford ingredients for his experimental potions. Harry pays Snape generously for his company and they bond over their grievances, and mutual like for snark and scathing commentary. It starts off with nothing sexual, but later evolves into it.

Severus sees the ad in the newspaper while trying to squeeze out the teabag he’s used without burning himself. He looks at the tea it’s produced and decides he’ll use it one more time and then he’ll find another one. Which is why he sees the ad, where otherwise he might not have.

CLASSIFIEDS the top of the page reads. Underneath it are the usual boring people asking to be treated like they’re not boring for a little while, and then there’s one that is too strange, too surreal. M WLTM FELLOW LNLY PERSON FR DINNER & WINE. WELL-COMPENSATED. 

_Sure you will_ , Severus thinks, and he fishes around in the drawer underneath his rickety kitchen table for a scrap of paper. _Well compensated my arse._ He finds a stub of a pencil first, and then something that was probably once an envelope, judging by the texture and print. He prints the reply number and the newspaper’s address on one side, and then on the other side writes: _What do you mean well-compensated?_

To his great surprise he gets a nice letter back, a few days later, through the newspaper, from whoever took out Box no. 687. He sends a letter back, but doesn’t include a reply address because it’s ridiculous and probably a scam, and doesn’t think of it again until he’s having his Friday evening beer at the pub, and a man wearing a bright yellow pull-over steps through the door. _Well fuck me sideways,_ Severus thinks, and then the man turns and he spits out the beer he’d been about to swallow. Desperately tries to mop it up before – 

“Snape?” He sounds more surprised than Snape’s ever heard him sound, and Severus wishes he hadn’t taken a booth, it’d be so much easier to escape if he’d been sitting at the bar. 

“Why the ever-loving fuck,” Severus starts, loud enough that Potter can hear him, loud enough that it embarrasses him into rushing to be closer to his table. “Are you taking out ads in the most unsavoury part of an already unsavoury newspaper, that they give out for free, in this hell-hole?”

“Snape,” Potter implores, like he wants him to keep his voice down. “Was it you? Did you know it was me?”

“You’ll buy me dinner first,” Severus says, and to his great surprise Potter turns straight to the bar, orders two of the pub meal and another pint. And an orange juice? “How old are you? Did you not want dinner and wine?” Severus drawls when Potter is made to carry it to the table himself by Betsy, who only actually serves people she’s known for a decade or longer. 

“Don’t like it,” Potter admits with blush-red ears. It’s a bit fetching, but Severus has hidden worse truths under torture, he’s sure he’ll be able to keep this one. Potter starts on the questionable shepherd’s pie and eats like it’s been a week since his last warm meal at least. It might actually have been a week for Severus, so his manners aren’t much better.

At the end of the evening, Potter, now a bit more relaxed, pulls up a little box from his pocket. Severus almost sneers about this being a _proposal, Potter_? And then it opens. It’s an extremely small vial, but inside of it is what could only be one thing. The golden glow lights up the insides of the box, and Potter snaps it shut again.

“How did you know?” Snape looks at Potter, knows he’s coming across as greedy and ill-mannered, but Potter only smiles.

“Your note, it was on the back of an envelope with the logo of _Potions Weekly_ on it. I took a gamble but I figured someone who gets letters from _Potions Weekly_ might know what to do with this.”

“But you’ll be taking it back now,” Severus says. He can’t help but cross his arms, frown and lean back. It’s the only way to prevent worse. _Shouting._ Or crawling over the table to pry that little box from Potter’s hands. He could do with some fucking luck.

“That depends,” says Potter, green eyes dark in the limited light of the pub. “It could be yours, if you’ll agree to meet me again, next Friday, at the _Canard_.”

“What’ll you do if I lie?”

Potter shrugs, “if you lie I won’t pay you another 300 pounds for dinner and a chat.”

“You must really be lonely,” Severus sneers, and he wishes he hadn’t. Potter’s face hardens, but he doesn’t take any of his offer back, and that says it all.

***

Severus sits, home alone, and tries to decide where to start. The kitchen has at least one family of mice, the basement Severus dug out with pain and blood and magic probably has more. The books are dusty, the hinges creak. He struggles to his feet, pants when he manages to stand. It’s eight pm. He only barely makes it up the stairs without crawling. 

In bed he contemplates what he’ll spend the money he’s getting tomorrow on. He’s not exactly excited to know that Potter moved to the Midlands and they share an Asda’s now, but at least with this source of income he can actually afford going grocery shopping. A train passes, the whole town shakes, the cracks in the ceiling are where they’ve always been. Nothing ever changes.

***

The first time they had dinner it was awkward, but the second time is easier. Possibly because they’ve set down some ground rules like no mentioning Dumbledore or really, “anyone else we both know. Ever.” It’s still uncomfortable, of course, but it’s less exhausting. 

By the time it starts to feel like a routine rather than an unreasonable risk Severus is taking weekly, almost a year has passed.

“Morning,” Harry jokes one night as they sit opposite each other and Severus’ jaw creaks when he yawns. Severus glowers at him. He was up all night working on a potion he’s hoping to make a little bit of money off of. What _Harry_ gives him is barely enough to keep the roof up. “Either way,” Harry continues, apparently getting to immunity from glowering already, “as I said I won’t be able to make it next week.”

“Yes you have the charity event,” Severus says, like he is not worried about the loss of income. “Did you wish to tell me all about the outfit you have planned?”

Harry laughs, more relaxed than he used to be, not quite where Severus remembers him being, when he was surrounded by friends and sat at the Gryffindor table. “I was hoping we could meet up after?”

“For dinner?” Severus shoots back. As if Harry won’t have eaten by the end of such an event. 

“No,” Harry blushes. And why? “No, after?”

Oh. Severus tries to recover before Harry notices it’s necessary at all. _Does he think I do this often?_ He looks at Harry properly, and stops himself from declining. The income, if nothing else. “Absolutely,” he says. “At the same rate?”

“Not if – no?” Harry looks right at him, eyes green and wide. “Twice as much?”

Severus scoffs automatically, “at least four.”

“Three it is,” Harry agrees, and Severus almost smiles back at him. The boy might still learn. 

“Did you wish to... start next week?” Severus asks, as delicately as possible, thinking he might use his time to brew something. Perhaps he could do some reading.

“Oh!” says Harry. “Well I suppose – why would we? Unless you have... something planned?”

Nothing that would make him enough for the rest of the month in one evening. So Severus shakes no, and stands up to leave Harry to pay. It’s 11 already, after all. Might as well get it over with.

Harry has a hand on Severus' left arm before Severus can step away, and he seems to notice his flinching. “Not good? Or did you want to go - ? You’ll need to side-along if you want in through the wards, sorry.”

“Not my place,” Severus says, because that definitely wouldn’t work. “Yours will do.”

Harry’s house is neat and pretty. Simple and remote. It takes Severus a moment to remember that it’s been years since he left Hogwarts, he would have had more than enough time to leave Grimmauld place and find somewhere better. Would have wanted to, probably, if anything Severus has read about his divorce was true.

Inside the house Harry leads Severus to the living room, but Severus doesn’t want a tour. If they’re doing this he wants it to be before he loses his nerve. He doesn’t even need to look at the pattern in the carpet to figure out where the bedroom is, the door has been left open. He stands in the middle of the room facing a blinking Harry who seems to be lagging behind a little, but then he starts on his cravat and Harry startles into motion. He closes the door, shuts the curtains, turns the lights down, gets the fire going. All before Severus has reached the end of the first row of buttons. His waistcoat is next.

Harry sits on the bed and watches Severus undress, but Severus can’t look at him. He’s vaguely aware of the fact that Harry is undressing also, but his attention is eclipsed by his own fish-belly skin. Pale like sun-starved roots. Scratchy with only just enough hair that Severus has always thought he looks a bit unclean for it, and if he tilts his head just so, the beginning of the scar. It hurts. Tight skin, sore muscles. He looks up at Harry just as he thinks he should have started with his shoes. Harry is fully naked, leaning back on the bed, idly playing with himself. Hard. Hard for Severus. 

Severus kicks off his shoes and then his trousers and pants and he kneels on the bed. No longer thinking about himself at all, really, just eager to touch. Harry smells warm, and Severus’ clammy hands stick on the hairs of his legs when he reaches out but it doesn’t matter, can’t. Harry has to like this. They have to do this again.

Severus leans in, deep breath in and out. It has been longer than he’d ever admit to, and either the smell got better or maybe Harry is just cleaner? He licks. Harry moans. When he comes it’s also not as bad as Severus remembers, and when he lies panting and Severus looks at him deflate, his mind starts racing.

But Harry pushes him gently, until he’s on his hands and knees. “You don’t have to,” Severus protests.

“Oh but I’ve wanted to,” he sounds like he’s smiling but Severus’ head doesn’t turn that way anymore. So he stares at the sheets beneath him. He’s scared to check but knows even without looking that he’s not quite hard. Harry trails hands over his back, spread his cheeks, kisses him? Severus tries to relax into it and doesn’t realize it’s what he’d been waiting for (praying for) until Harry summons lube. By the smell it’s real lube, not just some type of vaseline, and that helps loosen the stress in Severus’ stomach. Harry hums with satisfaction as he sinks two fingers into Severus, too fast, painful enough that it makes Severus’ eyes sting, but he leans into it and soon it stops hurting. 

He’s still trying to figure out how Harry can be slow but not gentle when a hand finds his cock, brings it to fully hard cleverly and quickly, and then synchronizes with the fingers inside of him until Severus comes. 

He wavers, almost chokes on how much he wants to catch his breath, sighs when the fingers leave him. Staggers to the bathroom. He leaves the lights off, doesn’t want to see what he looks like in the mirror as he pees and washes his hands. Nothing to be gained from that.

***

Severus sits at his desk in his old bedroom, idly tracing where he’d carved his initials into the wood before he stopped liking them. His garden is a mess still, but his finances are looking better. Soon he’ll be able to sell the house. He should be able to afford rent near Diagon Alley even without Harry’s money, and if he can get his pounds converted... He picks up his red pen again. Writes down the rest of the ingredients he’s bought today. Sales have been good. He’s feeling cautiously optimistic. 

***

After sex, one Friday night, Severus lies buried under the covers to catch his breath, Harry’s legs tangled with his own, the hand on his back a comfort he’d never admit to appreciating. 

“You could come, you know,” Harry whispers into the dark. He’s like that. Fond of spouting nonsense after sex. “I miss you when we don’t have dinner.”

“Hush,” Severus says. 

“I mean it,” Harry mumbles, turning his face into Severus’ armpit in a way that he used to find a little off-putting. Not anymore, unfortunately. “I’ve a meeting in France next month, the whole weekend. You could come.”

“You’re mad,” Severus tells him. “We’d kill each other in minutes.”

Harry leans back, his jaw hard. “It’s been quite a number of minutes since we last tried to kill each other, wouldn’t you say?”

 _You won’t like it,_ Severus thinks, but he doesn’t bother belabouring the point. “I suppose I have been tolerating you well enough. And I do like being able to eat.”

Harry moves a little closer still, seems to pick up on his reluctance. “Or we could eat in the morning,” he says. “Stay the night, here?”

“If you wish,” Severus says, because he’s been thinking about it, unsure if he could ask, should ask, if this was... Harry snores. Even that isn’t off-putting, and Severus has to breathe through what is probably irritation before he too drifts off. Easier than he should have, considering. 

In the morning Harry finds him some pyjamas to wear for breakfast, and cooks him a full English and shows off his (admittedly excellent) taste in coffee. They talk of his garden and Severus’ new flat at Diagon Alley. Severus doesn’t make it home until almost dinnertime. 

***

It always makes him feel better to read the paper in the morning. Usually there’s something in it about money Harry’s donated or given away, charities he’s supported, events he’s attended. It makes Severus feel less strange about the clothes he wears, the haircuts he gets, the shoes that were made for him. Dragon hide. He pays his own rent, but that’s about the extent of it at this point. 

An owl taps on the window, and Severus lets it in with a flick of his wand. The noise from Diagon Alley drifts in immediately.

_Have to cancel tonight, tomorrow?  
Harry_

Severus sighs. The owl hoots with impatience but stops when she gets glared at. Tomorrow he has to stir his Elixir 37 order, and Sundays are never good for Harry. 

_Next week_

He writes it underneath Harry’s message and hands it back to the owl. Gives her some owl treats just to make sure she won’t crap on the table next time she comes. As he watches her fly away he listens to the conversations happening right outside his window. It’s time to open the store.

***

“You know I wasn’t kidding right?” Harry asks as he unlocks the door to let them both in. Severus has so far managed to bite his tongue about the use of locking a door with a key when the people you’re worried about keeping out are all wizards. Besides, he does it too.

“You rarely make the sort of jokes that make me laugh,” Severus lies, “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific about what was or wasn’t a joke.”

“Git,” Harry says, as he switches on the lamps and kicks off his shoes. “About the gala next week. You were invited, and if you just say the word we can sit together.”

“No thank you,” Severus answers, as he hangs his cloak on the hanger Harry’s given him. “I’ll sit with the other Hogwarts deserters like last year.”

“When you nearly killed Grubbly-Plank,” Harry says.

“Who was being extremely stupid about macaroni, as I’ve told you many times.”

“Just because she’s vegan!” Harry laughs as he says it, and Severus almost manages not to smile. Almost. He turns away to make sure it’s all the way gone before he looks at Harry again.

He should say, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to sit in Harry’s cottage and have a glass of whiskey. He wants to pretend that he bought Harry that whiskey with money Harry’d given him, that he’s only here because he needs to eat and he likes having a steady supply of made-to-order fireproof robes. 

“What is on your mind?” asks Harry, as he wriggles out of his jeans, hands Severus a mug from the tea tray he’s brought in, and settles on the sofa with a blanket that judging by the unevenness was made by either his three-year-old niece or Hermione Granger. “I’m sorry I keep bothering you about being at the front table. You don’t have to.”

“I am,” Severus admits. He got the letter last week but has been expecting it for a while now. “I was invited to sit at the first table.” 

“With the biggest donors to the Magical Orphan’s fund?” Harry asks, his face unreadable, the earlier relaxation gone from his limbs. Severus bites his lip. 

“I did some consulting for them too. And the shop is doing well,” he says, as if that’s what Harry wants to know. “I don’t need - haven’t needed,” he clears his throat, pauses for a sip of tea, and continues: “for - some time.”

Harry sits up all the way, the light from the fire reflects on his face and Severus can’t tell what he’s thinking. He wants to take it back, joke about how Harry should be paying him more considering he’s the one bringing the good lube along. He sets the mug down and squeezes his hands together in his lap.

“You are _barking_ ,” Harry says. At least that is definitely a fair assessment. “You’ve been lying? About the money? For how long?”

Severus tries to count, more than a year, of course, since that’s when - “Not that long,” he lies. 

“You were invited to sit at the front before,” Harry accuses him. 

“Not the first table,” Severus says, knowing that won’t make it better. Harry walks up to him and climbs into his lap like the toddler he is. Severus’ hands settle on his thighs, he plays absent-mindedly with the hair there, the edge of Harry’s underwear.

“So those potions books?” Harry nudges, and Severus looks away. He hadn’t been given them by a grateful customer. “And the cauldron?” Severus looks up at Harry. He’s smiling. 

“What?” He knows he sounds defensive.

“How long have we been exclusive for?” Harry asks him. _The beginning_ , Severus thinks. But surely that can’t be? Harry laughs and leans his head against Severus’ chest. Severus’ hand drifts up as if by itself, settles on his nape. Plays with the soft hair there. _When did this become normal?_ “Please sit with me,” Harry whispers, “be out with me, seen with me.”

“And what,” Severus sneers into the warm soft hair he’s leaning against, “hold your hand?”

Harry sits back abruptly. “Don’t joke about that,” he says, his face hard and hurt. _Ah._

“I apologise,” Severus offers, trying to get his own expression to cooperate and having no idea how he’ll manage. He pets Harry’s face. Thinks about sitting next to him instead of opposite him at dinner. Thinks about how last year the robes Harry had bought him had green lining the exact same shade as his tie. How many times he’s asked. “If I sit to your right, who will be on my right?”

Harry blinks at him. “Ron,” he says. “Or Malfoy - Draco.”

“I’ll take Mr Weasley,” Severus decides. He’s good with innovative products, and Severus has been meaning to talk to him about collaborating for the shop. Harry lights up, a grin as wide as his face transforms him, he is otherworldly and beautiful.

“Are you sure?”

Severus doesn’t need to think about it. “Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment here or at [LiveJournal](https://snape-potter.livejournal.com/3908780.html), [Insanejournal](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/snape_potter/1835434.html), or [Dreamwidth](https://snape-potter.dreamwidth.org/1166897.html).


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